The bath
by ar-men15
Summary: Arya is tired of a teasing situation and decides to solve it once and for ever.


Six years, three months, twenty-three days since their first meeting.  
Four years, six months, two days since Arya Stark entered the House of Black and White.  
Three years, eleven months since her blood started.  
Three years, two months since she defeated a man in training for the first time.  
Two years, five months, eleven days since he kissed her head after she assisted him in a difficult mission.  
Two years, five months, ten days since her first dream of them in bed together.  
Two years, five months, nine days since she first touched herself.  
Exactly 6 months since Arya Stark became a faceless woman, still unbelieving they let her so.  
She kept an accurate count of her certified and documented years of longing, impossible to get that man out of her mind, being so close, every day.  
She could train with him, wash his hair, clean his room, prepare his food, but she could not convince Jaquen she was a woman who needed a man.  
The other faceless were partial to her and her savage grace, the Handsome man left a message on her pillow, offering his services in bed once she had bled; chastity wasn't a value at the House, she saw various brothers with the whores of the harbour. Never a man.  
Arya was stubborn, in vengeance, in strength and in love.  
Her restless nights could interfere with training and skills, she needed to solve the awkward situation before the Kindly man noticed it and split her and Jaquen: her determination grew stronger after they spent a week on the road in a cold land. In the hut, Jaquen offered his body heath under the sack and she enjoyed to sleep close; at dawn she needed to make water and she felt his arm over her waist, not letting her go.  
Her attempts to disentangle caused more gripping and the awareness something hard was poking against her ass, so she froze, understanding it was a very male part of him – observing the people in the brothels at the harbour gave her a perfect knowledge of human anatomy - and his unintelligible words were whispered with a voice too soft for him.  
He kept on sleeping, but she was sure there was interest from him, or at least not repulsion of Arya Horseface, the black swan of Winterfell; her appearance hadn't changed a lot during the years.  
Back at the House, Arya decided a push was unavoidable: a life as a maiden wasn't for her, neither as a submissive wife and mother, so Jaquen was her best chance.  
Every further attempt to show him she was grown up, a woman ready to bed a man, an expert killer, a great water dancer - courting him Sansa style a sure failure – was in vain.  
Jaquen was often around, behaving like a brother, a mentor, tethering on a thin line, never crossing it: he was driving Arya crazy.  
What were his feelings? Could a faceless have desires?  
Once, Arya slipped a foot on a wet stone while fighting with an acolyte, a heavy and tall young man, who he grabbed the chance, crushing her on the floor with his weight, grinding his body against hers to punctuate his victory  
Soon two large hands grabbed the young man's shoulders and in Arya's visual field entered a head with red and white hair.  
"I was only joking." The acolyte excused himself, leaving quickly the training room and Jaquen was worried she had been injured, examining arms and legs, a strange look in his eyes, anger, fury and a hint of hurt.  
So Arya went for the Waif, her last hope.

Armed with an original weapon, hidden under her robe in a small blue bottle, Arya descended to the baths, where Jaquen sure was.  
Once a week he called her to wash his hair and massage his head, so she put the torch on the wall hook and offered him a cup of fresh water, the right contrast with the steam around him; she acted in her usual way, other gestures of seduction were out of her reach.  
"Thanks." he simply said, returning the object.  
Her face was expressionless, not betraying her plan, but deep down Arya was afraid he could read behind her eyes using his experience; if it was so, he appeared not to oppose.  
Putting the cup aside, her ministrations began; he was more sensitive on the side of the white streak, when she touched the scalp there he used to make little sound, like a moan.  
His chest lifted with deep breaths, his fingers gripped the edge of the tub. Arya controlled the effects of her potion; Jaquen had to loose control, slowly, and fall in a sort of trance.  
"It is very hot here." He abruptly stated, voice still steady.  
"A few brothers used the baths before you." He nodded, moving his head, offering the neck to her expert fingers. She accepted and slowly massaged the shoulders, barely out of water.  
He was visibly relaxed, his chest to his knees, inviting her hands to explore further his body.  
Arya worked on the knot of aching muscles, he had never let her touch his spine before.  
"Roll up your sleeves more."  
Arya's wrists disappeared under the water to reach him, he offered more, leaning back against the tub, showing his broad chest, eyes glossy and mouth open, moaning a little louder with every touch from her.  
Arya had her chance, now or never, moving south, caressing the last ribs, the abdomen, while Jaquen tilted his head back, to admire her pale throat and breasts hovering over him; he lifted a hand to caress her face and neck, a few little drops fell from his fingers into her bosom.  
The water was clear now, his body fully exposed in the transparent liquid and Arya saw how hard he was, how his hips were starting little instinctive movements in search of something.  
Soon she'd reach his member, her ultimate target, she'd touch it for the first time.  
Close.  
So close.  
But…

She was tricking Jaquen to have him without his consent, his awareness, she was betraying her only friend at the House. A sudden shame, because she believed he'd never be compliant with her idea, eager to follow her gestures.  
Her hands stopped, she remained immobile then kneeled beside the tub. He seemed confused, his hand searched hers.  
"What happens, lovely girl? Why did you stop?"  
Head low, cheeks blushing, Arya confessed.  
"It is not fair. I want you, but you're without control of your body."  
"Why do you say so ?"  
"Because I gave you a potion to drink, it was supposed to lower your defences so I could get close."  
"A girl means the blue glass bottle?"  
"How do you know?"  
Her eyes large with surprise, Arya tried to stand up but his strong arm kept her close.  
"A man was your teacher, lovely girl."  
"That's the problem! you were my teacher, you're always ahead of me, whatever I do!"  
Her voice toned up in reaction, she pulled away and Jaquen stood up by reflex, splashing water all around, naked in all his glory, the tanned body in contrast with his flaming hair.  
Arya stopped, fascinated by the sight of smooth marble skin, so precious for her.  
"Do you like what you see?"  
He face betrayed her appreciation and her desire, she looked at his crotch and blushed, speechless.  
"Yes, you like." A grin. "I smell you're wet, too. We can continue."  
"No, we cannot!"  
Arya moved toward the door.  
"Stop lovely girl. I'm not under the effect of your drink, I've had my precautions."  
Jaquen picked up his tunic from the stool and retrieved a green glass ampoule.  
"An antidote to drink before yours. I want to be fully aware during our first mating, to treasure the moment and remember it."  
Arya stared at the ampolue, shocked.  
"So you do.. want me?" Her hesitation, his smile.  
"Lovely girl, what more proofs do you need?


End file.
